Confidant
by decuvieri
Summary: With the burden she carried, it wasn't surprising Shepard would turn someone for support. Jacob Taylor just never expected it would be him.
1. Meeting Lazarus

**Category:** Mass Effect  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Genre:** General  
**Summary:** With the burden she carried, it wasn't surprising Shepard would turn someone for support. Jacob Taylor just never expected it would be him.

Confidant

"System not designed for specialized ammunition."

Jacob had just toggled through his shotgun's interface to power on his ammo mod when the intonation alerted him to not only the presence of a mech, but also that it had a visual on him. Taylor, in his precipitous sprint for the door, came to a clumsy stutter-stop and scrambled for cover. By reflex he threw himself backwards over a storage crate, which had been unceremoniously dumped along the wall to be dealt with another day.

"Damn it!" he grunted as he hit the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Live rounds snapped over the top of the storage unit, passing through empty air where he'd been standing moments before, and the former marine reproached himself for dropping his guard. Jacob had assumed most of the LOKIs had moved out of their usual haunts in the maintenance areas. Their numbers had thinned out considerably the further he pushed into the station, and he attributed this to their being busy chasing the survivors to the evacuation terminals.

He stayed crouched with his shotgun hugged to his chest and waited out the assault. A lull gave way to the hiss of an ejected thermal clip falling to the floor, but the lieutenant held his position.

"Input manual authorization code Lambda-24966!" he tried.

"I'm sorry, your authorization is not valid. Please see your supervisor," answered the mech pleasantly. It followed up this helpful bit of advice with another stream of burst fire from its machine pistol.

_If I live through this, I will be writing Hahne-Kedar a strongly worded e-mail,_ thought Jacob, already formulating a plan of attack. He didn't know exactly where the robot was, and in this dim lighting the seconds wasted searching could cost him his life. He was familiar with its simplistic combat programming, however. The mech would walk right up to him if given the time, giving him a clear shot when he was ready. Holding out too long would give it time to signal for backup, but Jacob decided to take that chance. He was in his element with close quarters combat. Superior training and weaponry would win this for him: All he had to do was wait for the right moment to strike.

The steady clacking of metal feet on the floor grew louder, but it was the purr of whirling gears and coursing electricity that assured him the thing was getting close. Dark energy cascaded over the soldier's body in a protective barrier and he readied himself.

"Excuse me," uttered calm, polite voice from what seemed directly overhead.

"You're excused!" Jacob leaped up, and the shotgun jerked against his shoulder with an ear splitting roar. The exclamation was as unnecessary as it was ridiculous, like a line spouted by a padded action vid star. If any of his underlings had lived long enough to bear witness they would have ribbed the lieutenant for it. If they had lived.

The LOKI unit, just on the other side of the crate and without the sense to strafe around it, reeled from the point-blank blast. The impact threw its liquid balances out of equilibrium, and sensors behind the acrylic faceplate flashed in alarm. Jacob pumped his shotgun and watched with distanced resentment as the robot staggered back, its delicate arms flailing about in an unintuitive effort to recover.

The second shot was devastating to the mech's compromised armor. Thousands of microscopic particles ripped through what was left of its defenses and butchered the fragile mechanical innards, setting the hollowed out chest cavity alight with frenzied sparks. The LOKI folded over itself and crumpled to the floor, system lights shorting out in sequence. Last to go were the optics which flickered at the ceiling, its last unfocused blinks into space before the mech died.

Knowing the tendency for the synthetic guards to detonate following battle, Jacob decided against checking the downed mech for distress signals. Time was already running out on the imaginary deadline he'd imposed for getting to Medical. He was almost there, but couldn't know how much longer Lazarus had. She could already be dead. To Jacob's knowledge there was no organized rescue effort. He was it. That thought in mind, he replaced his thermal clip and kept moving.

The decision to equip the LOKIs with lethal weaponry was not Jacob's, though in all fairness he couldn't say he would have done things differently. Lazarus was too important to be defended with stun guns and concussive rounds. Synthetic guards made up about a third of the station's population and over half of its security force, a choice that was based upon the philosophy that reducing the number of non-essential human personnel on the project meant it was less likely to suffer internal sabotage. Every man had his price, but robots couldn't be bribed or blackmailed.

A robot could be reprogrammed though, and Jacob was certain that the revolt was an inside job. Hahne-Kedar implemented redundant system auto-corrects in their software similar to the data restoration process that made geth resistant to hacking. The only way to turn the entire inorganic crew over at once was to override the command system at the central hub, meaning somebody had gotten into the mainframe and reset the IFF. There was only one reason Jacob could think of that would drive a person to do it: Comatose and unable to defend herself, Lazarus didn't stand a chance if a mech wandered into the recovery suite.

The door led to a walkway that overlooked the medical plaza. It opened obligingly when Jacob approached, and in doing so betrayed the upheaval occurring inside the pavilion. From the racket of shots echoing off the expansive ceiling he could tell the commotion was coming from the ground floor. Jacob checked his flank before crossing the path, then peered over the balcony with deliberate care.

There were four mechs. They failed to detect the lieutenant as they advanced on their target, metal plated backs to him, reciting pre-programmed quips over a barrage of gunfire. Black pock marks charred the walls, but the highest concentration was on an impact-resistant glass hand rail. Long strands of light from tracer rounds lit up the room, a stretch that was rapidly diminishing as they marched ahead with mindless conviction.

A single combatant struggled to return fire, but found herself quickly overwhelmed with each attempt. There was no opportunity for a clear shot, so she resorted to firing blind when she popped up from safety. Taylor caught a good look on the last exchange and realized that, instead of the monochromatic uniforms worn by the station staff, this survivor was decked out in combat grade protective gear. Deflected shots rippled over kinetic barriers, but the shield flickered dangerously under the hail of bullets. The wearer hunkered back down just before the power cells were depleted.

Lazarus. Jacob's brow knitted together when he realized what he was looking at. Shepard was alive. She was _fighting_ He'd known the commander was almost ready, but he'd been expecting to find her lying torpid in the medbay. She was supposed to be in an induced coma until she finished healing. Instead she was up, alert, and in a bind that would only end badly if Jacob didn't do something.

"Shepard!" His voice boomed, but either the commander couldn't hear him or she wouldn't risk breaking cover to look. Her situation with the mechs was growing urgent as they moved in. A few seconds and they would be rounding her cover. Jacob turned his attention to the lead mech in the patrol and reached out with his hand.

Mnemonic gestures triggered the necessary neural impulses to generate mass effect fields. Motions varied by teacher and method, but in the asari sponsored programs in the transitional period between BAaT and the Ascension Project, simplicity was key. Jacob's physical prompts to manipulate dark energy usually corresponded with the desired effect. A throw field was enacted with a wide swing of the arm. A simple lift could be carried out with an upward flick. The more aggressive version of that, a pull field, took a little more effort. Jacob clenched his fist, imagining himself squeezing the far-off mech into the palm of his hand, and drew his arm back.

The LOKI at the front of the pack was yanked into the air and soared over its accompanying units; the second in line wobbled uncontrollably until it fell over. All of them lost sight of Shepard, fixated on the unexplained ripple of gravity. When the opportunity presented itself Shepard leaned out and took aim. Her pistol barked with each shot; heat hissed from the holes she put through the mechs' armor, and the two not affected by Jacob's pull were gunned down before the toppled LOKI could get back to its feet. That one didn't last any longer than its predecessors.

"Commander, are you hurt?" Jacob tried again after the final robot was finished off. Its metal corpse floated along in the gravity well, care free and trailing smoke.

Shepard searched for him, but once her eyes located Jacob on the balcony her pistol followed suit. She didn't walk out to meet him, but instead stayed crouched behind the guard rail.

"I'm alive," she said after a pause, probably unaware of the weight that statement carried coming from her. "Who are you? One of Miranda's people?"

Jacob was thrown by the astute question, then rationalized that Shepard couldn't have made it this far through a station of swarming hostiles without some help. A few simplistic droids wouldn't have caused Commander Shepard much trouble after killing a Reaper, but that was a lifetime ago. Miranda wouldn't let harm come to Shepard now.

"I'm Jacob Taylor, head of security. Are you clear down there?"

Shepard peeked out into the gallery, but her gun stayed trained on him. "For the moment. Every few minutes another group comes in, so I've been pinned here."

Jacob stopped to map out in his head where they were, trying to see it from Shepard's perspective, and considered the access points near her. The mezzanine was the crossroads for the most restricted decks, and security presence was thicker here than on the research levels. In addition to the small army LOKIs they had eight of the platform's twelve Heavies to dodge, and running in to one of those in the narrow corridors would be catastrophic. If he was right in his assumption that the security hack was part of a plot to kill Shepard they didn't have long before droids came flooding in from all directions.

"Listen. Evac shuttles are on the other side of the station. Ahead of you, right below me there should be door. Go through it and keep straight until you hit a stairwell on your left side. I'll come down and meet you there."

"And if there are mechs?" Shepard countered.

"I think you know what to do." _At least I hope you do_. "If you run into trouble just hold them off and I'll take them from behind. Be careful in the halls. We've got armored units with artillery-grade weaponry patrolling this sector, so check your corners and watch your back."

Shepard shook her head, frustrated. "I'm running out of thermal clips. I don't even have replacement cells for my shields!"

"That armor you're wearing is top of the line tech. Keep your head down and your shields will recharge. As for thermal clips… I don't know. You're just going to have to play it by ear."

The door at Shepard's back disengaged and slid open. One light mech marched out, followed by the rest of its sizable patrol. The orientation symbols on their faces were all flashing red, and they drew their weapons on Shepard without pause.

"Look out!" he warned, far too late to be of any use. Shots cracked through what was left of Shepard's shields. She gave an agonized cry, and blood spattered on the glass of the guardrail.

Jacob, swearing every swear he knew, didn't waste time holstering his shotgun. He dropped it to the floor and reached for his more range appropriate pistol, keeping an eye on Shepard as she whipped around the corner to get out of the line of fire. She was limping badly, and the move would only buy her a few seconds at best.

"Commander, run!" He let off a few suppressive shots to draw attention away from her, but he had to keep his aim too high to do any good. Shepard was positioned dangerously between himself and the mechs, and he hadn't come all this way just to shoot her in the head by accident. "I'll hold them off and catch up with you downstairs! Go!"

She didn't protest. The former spectre hobbled along the rail and made a break for the exit. Jacob waited for her to move out before engaging the synthetics. Once she was out of range he took aim.

His targets were farther off than what he usually practiced on the shooting range, but Taylor's marksmanship proved superior to the mechs. The scatter on their submachine guns kept most of them from being any real danger at that distance; only one was outfitted with a Predator heavy pistol, and even then the LOKI's accuracy was deplorable. They fell under a combination of well-placed shots and biotic interference, becoming a danger to the lieutenant only when they were directly underneath him, and even then that was debatable given his vantage point. It took him a few minutes to neutralize the group, but when the last lay on the floor crackling with electricity Jacob holstered his pistol, gathered up his shotgun, and set off for the rendezvous point.

Being in charge of security required Jacob to know all the ins and outs of the station. The stairwell at the end of the path wouldn't get him to Shepard, but there was another flight on the other side of the deck that would. He ran through the deserted North corridor, past the tissue grow labs, and took the stairs at the end of the hall reserved for cryogenic storage. This unit had gone dark once the project moved to Stage 4, so the area was virtually untouched by the rebellion. Jacob hoped it was the same case downstairs, but he started to second guess himself. What if he had unknowingly directed the commander straight into an enemy squad? Would she be able to defend herself? The woman was alive, but there was no way to know if Shepard was... well, _Shepard_. Her skill could have degraded, her memories possibly lost.

Jacob chose to sacrifice caution for expediency and picked up the pace. No way he was going to let Lazarus be killed on his watch. He'd sooner take an YMIR armed with nothing but butter knives than invoke the wrath of Miranda Lawson.

When Jacob finally got to the ground floor Shepard wasn't there. The lieutenant looked up and down the corridor several times, breathing hard and sweat on his brow. No sign of the wayward commander. He demanded of himself an explanation for how he could have possibly lost her in the span of five minutes. Had he gotten mixed up about the doors? Maybe she went through the wrong one. Hell, she might have decided not to wait up for him. Could have gone ahead, believing she could make it on her own.

_"Check! Check!"_ Jacob jumped at the frantic plea in his ear. His omni-tool blinked into being on his arm at the incoming transmission, trying to isolate the frequency and reduce the static. The caller continued, _"Is there anyone alive out there? Hello? Goddamn it."_

After a steadying breath Jacob answered. He thought recognized the voice. "That you, Wilson?"

_"Taylor? Where the hell have you been? Your brainless staff were fish in a barrel without you!"_

Were. The word stung the lieutenant, but he'd known their chances when he left them. Somebody had to save Lazarus. "I'm just off the Pavilion, and-"

A high pitched hum interrupted him. He knew what the noise was, but before he could locate the source Jacob felt the cool muzzle of a pistol press into the back of his head. He swallowed hard.

"...I've got Shepard with me." He finished the statement as calmly as he could, not having to look to know it was her. A mech would have shot him dead immediately. She needed Taylor for information.

_"Shepard's alive?"_ Wilson continued, oblivious to Jacob's plight. _"How... You got to get her out of there. Here, I've just made it to the server rooms. I'll link into surveillance and plot you a course through. Start towards B Wing; not as many mech signatures there."_

"Yeah. I'll work on that. Stay on this frequency." Jacob clicked off the comm.

"You people have some serious stones," Shepard growled. Her cloaking device's power cell depleted, the commander shimmered back into view in a flurry of distorted colors and shapes. It seemed she had discovered the recharging shield wasn't the only new bell and whistle available on her armor. "Normally I would celebrate Cerberus' experiments going bad on its own people for a change, but somehow I've been caught in the middle. You are going to start filling me in."

Jacob relaxed as much as his rushing adrenaline would allow, accepting with silent resolve the poor outlook of his situation. There were reasons why Shepard wasn't to be told she was in Cerberus custody until she'd met with the Illusive Man. Jacob initially felt the approach was dishonest, but he understood that Shepard's violent history with the organization warranted caution. To make sure things went right they would have to handle Shepard's awakening like a nuke with a mercury switch. Instead she came to in a besieged facility, her last memories being of her ship under attack, and it was just Jacob's luck that he was wearing the logo of her perceived enemy on his chest.

He'd have to make his words count. "I know that you need answers. I'll do my best to fill you in when there's time, but at any second a squad of mechs can come pouring through any of these doors, and then what? I'm no good to you dead, and you're no good to the galaxy dead, so can we put the mining me for information on hold until we get to an escape shuttle?"

"Right. I'm really going to let you shoot me in the back."

Jacob frowned. "Cerberus didn't save you just to drop you again on our terms. We need you alive. Everybody does. You're the only person who can stand against the Reapers."

Hoping that reinforcing the threat of their common enemy would be enough, Taylor turned and looked the commander in the eye. It was the closest he'd ever come to Lazarus, able to see for the first time the scarred up vision of the galactic hero that had saturated the vids two years earlier. He knew the scientists' ambitions, but Jacob never believed all the artificially generated parts grown and harvested from vats could possibly be assembled into such a perfect likeness of that dead spectre. Before him stood _the_ Commander Shepard, beads of sweat on her brow and dark smears of blood on her greave.

Was she really Shepard though? She looked the same, save for some scuff marks. What about beyond the aesthetics? It didn't matter; he had a duty to protect her all the same.

"You are the most important person on this station." Jacob meant it. For all the lives of friends lost, he was sincere in his belief that if Shepard got out okay, their deaths wouldn't be in vain. "Most of the staff have died defending you. I will too if it comes to that. But Shepard, sitting here waiting to be ambushed is not going to help. I need you to trust me."

It was obvious that she was weighing her very limited options. She didn't stand much of a chance on her own in a station that she was unfamiliar with, outnumbered by enemies that couldn't think twice about opening fire. She needed Jacob, and not as a hostage. It wasn't like she could fumble through the unfamiliar station, fight the mechs in her injured state, and keep an eye on her hostage all at the same time. With barely contained suspicion in her eyes Shepard stood down, but it wasn't an unconditional acceptance. She had lowered her gun, but her guard was still up.

"I don't trust you, but I'll follow you for now."

It wasn't the answer Jacob wanted to hear, but he figured it would have to do. "Fair enough, Commander. We should meet Wilson in the server rooms. This way."


	2. Trust

**Category:** Mass Effect  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Genre:** Adventure  
**Summary:** With the burden she carried, it wasn't surprising Shepard would turn someone for support. Jacob Taylor just never expected it would be him.  
**Note: **Sorry this took forever and a day to get out. There was an incident. I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say the whole thing involved a concrete floor, my head, and possibly the hottest EMT in the midwest US (Seriously. What a _babe_.). Don't worry, I'm definitely not planning on doing it again, so here's to hopefully faster updates.

Chapter 2: Trust

For tens of thousands of years the Omega space station had perplexed historians. Countless lifetimes devoted to unraveling the mysteries hadn't culminated many discoveries: Fifteen thousand years after it was found, all anybody knew for certain about the hollowed out asteroid was that it was a Prothean construct. The evidence used to validate that ancient conclusion was no longer pertinent to the belief: Generations upon generations of sentient beings had been told this was proven fact, and it was accepted without argument. They more or less had to since no one could refute it. Omega had fallen off the the radar of scientific interests since political instability and lawlessness dominated the platform, making it too dangerous for researchers to conduct any further in-depth studies.

Still, what continued to puzzle experts was the stark contrast between Omega and the Citadel. Why had the Protheans, who had built their Utopian Citadel shrouded in the dust of heaven, take the design of Omega in such a hellish direction? Theories ranged from the practical to the abstract. The most commonly accepted explanation was it had originally been a prison colony, or some sort of transient housing solution. A number of sociologists suggested the station's convoluted architecture could have been indicative of a chasm forming in Prothean culture, possibly even a precursor to the events that led to the fall of their empire. No rationale had any more evidence backing it than another, and so the scholarly community had to make do with guesses and assumptions.

For those who knew about the Reapers, the answer was simple. Omega was so different from her sister in the Widow nebula because the Protheans weren't behind the Citadel. For ages they had been erroneously awarded credit for constructing what they had scavenged. No doubt Omega drifted incomplete in space because the Protheans happened upon the Reaper trap and found it more to their liking than their own dark, imperfect creation. Escorting Shepard through the streets of the galactic hub, Jacob could see why: It was difficult to look at Omega as anything but a cesspool in comparison to the Citadel. In its present state conditions aboard the station were dank and cramped. The decrepit atmospheric processors struggled to filter out the millennium's accruement of pollution, but the air people breathed came from purification vents saturated with smog regardless. The deleterious ozone added to the ambiance of Omega, complimented by overcrowded streets and the foreboding black "skyline". Taylor failed to see what quality in a person a place like this spoke to.

"He's late." Miranda stalked the short distance in front of their booth, either oblivious to or ignoring the nervous looks patrons were giving her. Jacob suspected the latter, but hoped she didn't overestimate their tolerance. Miranda's authoritative manner could easily be a match in the powder keg without parading the sidearm on her hip in front of several edgy onlookers, and it wouldn't take much to start a commotion. The ex-marine had to wonder why their contact would insist upon an unseemly bar like this to serve as their rendezvous point instead of some place less openly hostile and... _cliché_. He noted the irony in how he'd spent two years of his life protecting Lazarus, and what was the first thing they chose to do with Cerberus' multi-billion credit asset? Start a barroom brawl, of course.

"Tell me what we know about this guy. I don't like walking into situations blind like this," the commander said. Upon their arrival all the tables in the corners watching the door were unsurprisingly taken. When none of those people turned out to be Zaeed Massani, the group settled for strategic seating along the wall. Shepard had sidled into the booth seat opposite of Jacob, leaving them able to watch each others' backs. So far none of the shady clientele had done more than give them wary glances, but Jacob was just waiting for that to change.

"Didn't you read the dossier?" Miranda adopted the tone that made it sound like the answer was blatantly obvious.

"It gave his name and that he's a bounty hunter. Not exactly an in-depth analysis of character."

"What more do you need to know? He's already been bought and paid for. It's not as though you'll have to do any negotiating for his help." Folding her arms over her chest, Lawson continued to eye the door as if she could drag Massani in by force of will. Maybe she could. Jacob had seen her effortlessly chase cowed medical techs out of her office in the past with nothing but silence and stoic glares.

"I may not have any say on the crew, but I decide who's on my team. If something about him isn't right, he's not coming along," Shepard declared, tracing the ridges of graffiti that had been carved into the table. Amidst the maelstrom of expletives and extranet IPs offering a "good time" to any good-looking ladies (stipulation: required minimum of ten fingers), there was line of sharp alien script that seemed to hold her interest. Jacob guessed it was turian.

"The individuals the Illusive Man selected are among the best at what they do. To defeat the Collectors we need nothing less," Miranda answered as though it were really that simple. "I assure you, Massani is quite capable. Cerberus has enlisted his services in the past, and he comes well recommended."

"Great. He's terrorist approved. Anything else?"

"He is a mercenary, Miranda," Jacob interjected before she could respond. No discussion stemmed from that could end well, and this wasn't the place for a heated argument on Cerberus' policies. "People like that follow the credits. How are we supposed to trust him to not stab us in the back?"

"We can't, which is why we have to secure his allegiance some other way. That goes for all everyone we'll be dealing with, not just the obvious suspects."

Shepard snorted a mockery of agreement, which Jacob took as a sign the same could be applied inward. Indeed, if Cerberus had been banking on the commander's gratitude to secure her loyalty, it was a good thing they had the missing colonies to use as leverage. Taylor couldn't help but feel if she was any less inclined to see the big picture, Shepard would have either turned on them or bolted the first chance she got. It had taken the lonely stillness of Freedom's Progress to gain her help, but Shepard made her resentment of Cerberus very clear. The situation wasn't ideal, but everyone was counting on them to pull their act together and make the most of it.

"See something you like, Taylor?" The inquisitive tilt of Shepard's head failed to offset her stare, which was uncomfortably cool. She must have noticed Jacob's lingering attention, but not that it wasn't actually on her. Jacob motioned behind her with his chin.

"There's a guy at the bar who's a bit too interested in the back of your head," he said quietly, but the commander didn't appear concerned.

"Probably just a rubbernecker. Can't be every day a dead hero walks into your local watering hole."

"So long as he doesn't get any ideas of putting a bullet back there, we'll be fine." Jacob said, but he was unwilling to let it go. His subject was a batarian who gave all warning signs of trouble. He was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, but he was edgy and kept sneaking peeks. Shepard shot a furtive look over her shoulder to see for herself.

"That guy? Maybe he recognizes me from somewhere. Just forget him." She turned back and gave a dismissive shake of her head, but the distance in her voice didn't go unnoticed by Taylor, nor did the context of what she'd said. In some parts of the Traverse, human-batarian relations had been improved to the point where the races could coexist on colonized worlds, but even those relationships were tenuous. Jacob's personal experience with batarian nationalist groups had been a bloody, unforgivable ordeal, and he didn't see himself welcoming another proposal for interspecies peace talks any time soon. He seriously doubted Shepard would be open to the idea either. He'd read her profile, and everyone had heard the stories.

The entry door groaned in grime-ridden rails, dragging itself open for another disheveled newcomer. People shot curious glances at the arrival, a man decked out in battered pieces of mismatched armor and tattoos, before quickly occupying themselves with something else. It was then Jacob was struck with deja-vu, a disembodied feeling that they were all actors in a scene straight out of a vid about the old West, complete with the seedy bar, gung-ho patrons, and a disfigured antagonist barging in to survey the crowd. The difference here came when Miranda muttered an irate "Finally" under her breath, and she rested her hands on her waist in anticipation. Jacob realized with overwhelming dismay that rag-tag brute who fit the stereotypical mercenary routine to the letter was their first recruit for the war against the Collectors.

"You've got to be kidding," he murmured, but not even Shepard heard him.

"There had better be a damn good reason," Miranda confronted the man as he approached. It didn't matter that Massani was equipped with more firepower than a tank and looked capable of tearing a man apart with his teeth: Lawson's modus operandi was to establish dominance, then get her people in line. Jacob knew the pattern, but wondered how effective it would be on individuals who didn't know her as 'the boss'.

Unfortunately Zaeed Massani did not look like somebody who could conform if he tried, and for her efforts Miranda was awarded with a dirty look. "I was instructed to look in on a couple'a aliens. If you want up to the minute intel, sometimes you gotta wait for it." His attention bounced over to Jacob, then after a split second to their leader. The crude grin that followed didn't manage to crawl as far up his face on the scarred side. "You must be Commander Shepard. Hm... Death sure took it easy on you."

Several ears turned in their direction.

"You'd think so," replied Shepard, not committing to any path that could stray into sensitive territory. The mercenary didn't seem bothered by her evasiveness however, and nodded as if he understood completely.

"Life's a damn fickle cunt, ain't she? Kills off the savior of the galaxy on a whim, then lets the politicians stand on her corpse to wave their dicks around. No justice to any of it." Zaeed dragged a chair from one of the neighboring tables over. Whether he sensed his ass was not welcome to sit with the former marines or he just wanted to keep an eye on his surroundings wasn't clear, but he was obviously more comfortable in Omega's underbelly than they were. "But never mind that. Better to know who the spineless cowards are so they don't end up in the way. Now, I believe you need some information."

"On Mordin Solus," Miranda said pointedly.

Zaeed let out a long breath. "Yeah, him. There ain't a lot goin' around on the salarian. Heard he was some kind'a doctor and that he was dealin' with the plague down in the Gozu neighborhood, but details are sketchy after that. It's a fuckin' war zone down there, and the whole district's under quarantine until the plague runs its course. Aria's guards ain't lettin' anyone in or out until she says otherwise."

"Who's that?" Shepard frowned.

"Aria T'loak? Why, she's the Bitch Queen of Omega. Fancies herself the ruler of this guddamn shit hole. Personally, I don't see why anyone in their right mind would _want_ it, but she ain't the only person goin' around makin' that claim. She's the one you have to get cozy with to find your doctor." Zaeed waved it off. "But you don't got time to screw around with that now. That turian you had me check in on? He's got pressin' issues himself."

"You mean Archangel? What happened?" Jacob leaned forward in his seat. He caught a whiff of stale cigar smoke off the soldier for hire, and instantly there was another thing about Massani that Jacob didn't like.

"Your vigilante friend went and pissed off the big three merc bands in the Terminus, that's what. From what I gather, he makes a habit of throwin' wrenches in peoples' plans, and now it's got him in a damn sunny place. I got a man in the Suns tellin' me they know where his base of operations is. They've thrown in with Eclipse and Blood Pack mercs to take him down once and for all. If you want to save him, we're gonna have to haul ass."

Taylor didn't know why, but Shepard looked at him upon delivery of the bad news. It could have been the ideal moment to show some camaraderie, but before he could put together a reaction she'd already turned away. Her brow was furrowed, probably trying to piece together the situation and how to handle it.

"When do they start moving on Archangel's compound?" she asked.

Zaeed's smirk was dry and humorless. "A few hours ago."

"Hold on, Shepard," Miranda interrupted. "Before you get any ideas about rushing headlong a large cadre of armed gunmen, we have to consider our options. As bad as Archangel's situation may seem, I believe we should locate Mordin Solus now, then deal with the mercenary problem afterward."

"How do you figure?" Shepard's scowl was fast becoming one of her favorite expressions.

"Think about it. You won't be recognized as quickly out here in Terminus space, but once word hits the extranet that you're alive, the clock starts ticking. It's too much to hope for that the Collectors won't move on us at the first opportunity, so we need to ready ourselves. We should find Dr. Solus now so he has as much time as possible to develop a way past the seeker swarms."

Jacob gave her a contentious shrug of his shoulders. "What about Archangel? We just cross our fingers and hope he's still alive whenever we get around to saving him?"

"We wouldn't be recruiting him if he couldn't take care of himself," Miranda argued. "I understand it sounds cold, but we have to take the long view of this. We can afford to lose Archangel. What we cannot afford is to be caught by the Collectors without some sort of countermeasure to their technology."

The bullheaded part of Jacob wanted to retort that the Collectors wouldn't risk attacking Omega just to reach Shepard. Their largest raid so far had been a mining colony of about two-hundred thousand people. This station had several million inhabitants, most of them armed, and it was doubtful the Collectors were prepared to launch an assault of that magnitude. And there was no way they could do it without escapees taking the news back to Council space, seeker drones or not.

In the end though Taylor bit the claim back just before it rolled off his tongue. Who was he to say what the Collectors were capable of? They could decide that retrieving Shepard would be worth exposing their operation to the galaxy, and if they did, the Omega-4 relay was only a short FTL jump away. Their entire fleet could arrive within hours. Difficult as it was for him to admit, Miranda's point was valid.

"What's Archangel's outlook?"

Massani mulled over Shepard's question. He clicked his tongue a couple of times before producing an answer. "Can't speak to it either way. From what I hear, he's got a team of men at his back and superior position. They'll have to hold off the mercs along with whatever mech force they brought along. Eclipse is known to have a healthy stock of synth cannon fodder. I also happen to know that Tarak, the head of the Suns, has a personal gunship. I'd put money on him breaking it out for this."

"So we could waste hours drawing the mercs into a two front fight, but there's no guarantee they'd lay off Archangel's team enough to make a difference. We may only delay the inevitable with a frontal assault."

"And get ourselves killed in the process," Miranda added.

"Ah, now I was runnin' late today for a good reason." Bearing his teeth in a wide smile that Jacob found himself loathing, Massani rapped his knuckles on the table. "Did some diggin'. Turns out the merc groups are tryin' to bolster their numbers by hiring freelancers. I can pull some favors to get us put on the roster, supposin' nobody causes a stink about your strong resemblance to a dead Spectre, Shepard. We'd be able to waltz right on through to Archangel without anyone being the wiser."

"That sounds... easy." Jacob made no apologies for allowing suspicion to ebb into his voice. How convenient that such an ideal solution would just fall into their laps. He didn't find it hard to imagine them getting deep inside the Blue Suns camp, only to be double-crossed while surrounded by armed hostiles. Their mark was clear on Zaeed's neck; why wouldn't he still have ties to them?

"Didn't say it was a perfect plan, boy-o. Gettin' out with the turian won't be half as easy, and we'll probably end up fighting through all the mercs anyway," the mercenary retorted. Jacob bristled at the diminutive epithet, but Shepard moved to stand at that moment, breaking the stalemate. Jacob settled for a disgusted sneer before following her example.

"W have a better chance to save Archangel if we were on the same side of the fight," the commander decided. The logic was sound, but Miranda's looked incredulous.

"Shepard, at the very least we should go after Solus first so we have an extra set of hands for the fight!"

"Are we even sure this information is reliable? Consider the source," Jacob advised, aware it was counterproductive to his argument but not eager to risk their lives on the word of some freelancing thug. To further spark his ire, Zaeed rolled his tongue over his lips in a lascivious way, all the while eying the lieutenant. That would have been the final straw for Jacob, who couldn't help feeding his amp the energy to trigger a gentle hum just beneath his skull, but again Lazarus commandeered the situation before things got out of hand.

"I've made my decision," Shepard barked, her patience wearing thin. "Not long ago I was the one with my back against the wall, getting my ass getting kicked by every moving thing with a gun. We're going after Archangel. Besides," The next part she spat through clenched teeth, "I think it would be good for us if we all just go and shoot something."

"Ah, yeah. It'll be a damn good time. Won't it, boy-o?" Massani slapped the operative on the back, putting himself an inch away from death by the crushing biotic force that Jacob would have unleashed had he not been so stunned by the man's gall. The mercenary laughed as he walked away, and Jacob thought hard about slapping _his_ back with a little dark energy to level the playing field.

Miranda's warning glance stopped him, and Jacob resigned himself to burying the hatchet, if only for the moment. The mission had to come first. If that meant working with Massani, he'd do it.

But he didn't have to like it.

_Mercenaries._


	3. Unnatural Disaster

**Category:** Mass Effect  
**Rating:** PG13  
**Genre:** Adventure  
**Summary:** With the burden she carried, it wasn't surprising Shepard would turn someone for support. Jacob Taylor just never expected it would be him.  
**  
**

Chapter 3: Unnatural Disaster

"Rockets incoming!"

Jacob had glimpsed movement on the gangway before Miranda's pointed them out, but to hear the confirmation of heavy weapons was discouraging. It made sense the vorcha would be setting up fire support on the inaccessible ledge overhead while the humans were busy, but Jacob had hoped that tactical advantage would be overlooked. For a race that was often ridiculed for a lacking intelligence and organization, the vorcha had shown themselves to be tenacious fighters.

The krogan presence might have been responsible for the enemy's unprecedented guile, however. Shepard's team had faced off against several of the hulking warriors as they pushed through the Gozu district, meeting a healthy force of them in the target building. Each time an armored beast emerged from an adjoining corridor, all fire was focused on bringing the titan down before it could storm the line that Jacob, Miranda and Zaeed held. Whatever vorcha threat they had been whittling away at prior to that was given time to hunker down, reload, and regenerate wounded flesh. What felt like an endless opposition was actually the same handful of cackling aliens reentering the fray after a short recovery period.

"We need you here, Commander!" Taylor called over his shoulder, ignoring how it made his throat sting. At some point in his broken soliloquy of scattered thoughts, Dr. Solus had warned them of the ramifications of the ventilation system being down. Any idiot could draw the conclusion that running out of air in vacuum was a bad thing, but Jacob had overestimated how much time they had to work with. During their long trek to Environmental Control, the stagnant atmosphere had turned stale, stifling hot, and completely inadequate for the physical demands of combat. The biotic had pulled his oxygen mask out to compensate, but dehydration made the his limbs feel heavy and sluggish.

"Almost done." Behind him, her hands flying across blinking panels, Shepard was injecting the professor's cure into the purification chamber. It was turning into a lengthy process by the sheer amount of the agent required to accommodate the entire ward, and without that fourth gun the remaining squad buckled under the resistance. Jacob barely kept himself from further _encouraging_ the commander to hurry it up, accepting that she was well aware of how time was working against them. He turned back to the fight, reinforced his barrier with as much energy as he felt able to spare, and pumped his shotgun.

The ground team was at a severe disadvantage, and not only because of the enemy's numbers. Defending Archangel's base had been an accomplishment, but it hadn't given the mismatched group much chance to familiarize themselves with each others' methodology. While helping Garrus they had been scattered between two parts of the building, mostly holding choke points and fighting by attrition. Now the invading party, it was obvious that Shepard's military background, Miranda's private training, Zaeed's guerrilla warfare, and Jacob's own pastiche style had yet to coalesce into anything solid. Maintaining a buffer between the vorcha and Shepard was easy, but once they got on the move again it would be the same haphazard mess as before.

Finally, out of nowhere, Shepard threw herself against the crumbling plinth beside Jacob. One hand was activating her comm unit, the other busy with unlocking her Devlon Mantis from its holster. "The cure is in the system. EDI, get those fans running!"

_"Schematics show both fans are housed in separate control rooms near your location. There seem to be hardware failures that are preventing me from reconfiguring them remotely. You will have to repair the damage to restore power."_

Jacob heard the commander grumble something, but it was lost to the impact of a rocket-propelled grenade booming into the ground a few yards away.

"Commander, I think we've drawn most of the resistance out of hiding," he pitched his voice to carry over the fight. "If we can break through them here, we should have a clear path to the fans."

Sweat was running down Shepard's flushed face, and strands of tussled black hair were plastered to her forehead. Her eyes were resolute on her sniper rifle, which had just finished snapping open. "Then let's get breaking. Watch my blind."

Pulling on dwindling reserves of strength, Jacob gave an affirmative nod. "Got you covered, ma'am."

From a strategic standpoint, he and Shepard were a formidable pair. The similar Navy training helped, but for the most part it was the inherent meshing of their tactics: Shepard operated at range, Taylor worked best in close-quarters. He kept her clear while her nose was buried in scope, and he warned her when the action was moving in. They were still unpracticed in some areas, such as when Jacob's biotics interfered with Shepard's shot, or when she fired off a round a little too close to the lieutenant for his comfort. Still, in the labyrinth beneath Archangel's base they had formulated a system that more or less worked. There were occasional moments of frustration, but vorcha died in throngs, so they were doing something right.

The rapport of the commander's rifle was a welcome noise, thunderous in Jacob's ears even as his shotgun reduced one screeching alien into a pulpy mess. He afforded himself a look at the overhang and saw only one vorcha standing. Maybe the second had taken cover, but Jacob doubted it. It was clear to him that Shepard wasn't in the habit of missing.

Zaeed stood up, leveled his assault rifle, and proclaimed, "They're fallin' back. Let's get to those guddamn fans already."

"Don't break formation!" Miranda shouted after the mercenary, but Zaeed had already jumped the concrete divider and was headed toward an adjacent stairwell. While Jacob might have risked firing ahead with a more precise weapon, his shotgun's spray left too much room for friendly fire (_Not that the prick doesn't deserve a little shrapnel in his ass,_ he thought). At least the forward charge drew most of the enemy fire away from Shepard. Another loud clack of machinery punching a round through the sound barrier told Jacob their rocket problem was at least solved.

"We're moving, people!" Shepard declared. She traded out her sniper rifle for the pistol strapped to her thigh, and she traced Massani's path without further warning to the Cerberus agents left behind.

Miranda looked incensed as she used the reprieve to pull her oxygen mask over her face, and Jacob could understand why. Having one loose cannon was bad enough, but that Lazarus was turning out to be just as reckless must have been a slap in the face to the woman who'd spent years putting that creature back together piece by piece. Eventually she partnered off with Jacob, and together they followed the commander to the far side of the atrium.

Down the stairs was a walkway, exposed but not lacking in cover. None of the vorcha seemed eager to pursue them into the death trap. Realizing they must have decided to retreat and gather their bearings, Jacob decided to do the same and checked his own supply of armaments. His pistol was still fresh and unused, but his shotgun's charge was down to thirty percent. Specialized ammunition sapped power from a weapon's battery life, but his incendiary upgrade had been indispensable against the vorcha and krogan. Jacob believed it still was, so he left it on. The heat sink shortage would be a problem long before his weapon died anyway.

"Air's gettin' thin," Zaeed grunted, pulling his helmet over his head. It looked like some sort of ritual death mask. "Those little fucks shut down the vents, but most of the district ain't breathin' anymore. Thought that would'a bought us some more time."

EDI said, _"I am unable to find any recent maintenance records for the Gozu district's Environmental Control. The last work logged was dated six standard years ago. It's reasonable to assume the neglect has led to substandard air quality."_

"These people couldn't even bother checking on the machines that kept them breathing?" Jacob huffed in disbelief.

"Poor neighborhood like this? On Omega?" With a snort, Zaeed "They were probably more worried 'bout payin' the Suns' _'protection fee' _than hirin' experienced engineers. Had to make do with patchwork to keep things running until it all went to hell."

_"Readings indicate oxygen levels are dangerously low throughout the district. Gas torches being used to cremate victims of the plague may be responsible for the rapid carbon dioxide conversion. I recommend haste in reactivating the processors."_

"You heard the bot. Let's do this." Shepard pointed Miranda and Zaeed to a pair of support columns. They were ideal for holding the narrow walkway, providing cover while funneling incoming hostiles through a small choke point. "You two, make sure nothing follows us down here. Fall back to us if they make another push. Taylor, you're with me."

Miranda would have been a better choice for their task, which was suited for people with a half a clue about engines and how they worked. The soldier thought it strange Shepard would pick him instead: Jacob considered his knowledge of tech to be paltry at best and held no illusions to the contrary. His motto was that if it wasn't fixable with omni-gel, it wasn't getting fixed. He followed her into the darkened room regardless, not caring to debate whatever rationale Shepard used.

They walked into a garbage heap. A far cry from the Lazarus Station's filtration center, the fan hub was cramped and full of discarded materials. Metal debris from some abandoned restoration project had rusted itself to the floor, and a number of compressed gas cylinders had been stacked in the far corner of the room, piled shoulder-high and turned on their sides. Divided from the mess by a thin strip of floor that had been cleared up to serve as a path, the fan control was dark and powerless. Panels had been torn away to expose old wiring, whole bundles of which had been ripped out and sticking into the air. At the foot of the computer was a vorcha corpse, apparently electrocuted to death. The commander had to kick it aside to access the console.

"Is it as bad as it looks?" Jacob asked after Shepard had a moment to inspect the damage. He felt useless as she hummed speculatively, picking through the tangled mess of cables and performing several sweeps with her omni-tool.

"Hack job," she shrugged as if it were more an annoyance than legitimate problem. "Should be able to get it back online by diverting the power through another terminal. It won't take long."

"I'm surprised they didn't do more."

"Don't be surprised. Be grateful." The commander tried to wipe the sweat from her face, but her armor's ceramic plating wasn't absorbent enough to help. More tangled hair fell in front of her eyes, and Jacob took note of how she still hadn't put on her helmet. He wondered if it was her just being stubborn or if she wasn't feeling the strain as acutely as everyone else. Cerberus' model had been to make Shepard just as she was before the SR1 was attacked, yet they didn't spare any expense in various improvements. Millions of credits had gone into finding ways to make Lazarus less breakable in her second incarnation. Her muscles were stronger, her bones harder, and organs more resilient. Jacob assumed that, given Shepard's previous cause of death, the science teams would have paid special attention to increasing her odds of survival in oxygen-poor environments.

The wonders of science.

A few minutes of the ex-marine standing around trying to look competent passed before the monitors finally flashed to life. There was a loud _bang_ behind the wall as something big kicked into motion, followed by a steady pulse of machinery. Shepard stepped back to admire her work and nearly fell into the trash pile.

Jacob put a hand to his comm unit. He decided to report their status as Shepard was busy with swearing and trying to recover her balance. "Miranda, this fan is up. Let's get the other one and get the hell out of here."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the door begin to groan in its frame. He turned to see a solid steel curtain bar their way out, creating an air tight seal with a heavy _ka-thunk_. The room was swallowed up in darkness, save for the dull orange glow from the generator's interfaces.

Zaeed's voice, laden with static, rumbled in the biotic's ear: _"What the hell was that?"_

Jacob's hand phased through the holographic switch. The mechanism remained bolted shut. "I think the vorcha must have trapped the computer. We're locked in."

_"Not a problem. I'll overload the lock from this side,"_ Miranda said.

"Negative," replied the commander, shaking her head. She approached the door and toggled the flashlight on her shoulder on. "This is just a diversion to buy them time to break the other fan. You and Massani get over there before they can do any serious damage. I'll hack the door."

_"Understood. We'll keep you posted of what we find. Moving out."_

Jacob watched Shepard kneel before an electrical panel. Being sidelined a second time didn't sit well with him, and he reached for anything he could say or do to contribute. What he came up with was weak, but it was better than standing in dumb silence. "After everything we've seen, I wouldn't have thought the vorcha capable of putting together something like this."

Shepard shrugged. "I wouldn't be so quick to give them credit. This plague, their plan for spreading it, their weapons... There's somebody pulling the strings here. It might be the Collectors like Mordin said, or maybe some one else. But it's definitely not the vorcha."

"Do you think the Collectors are responsible for this?"

"I think the proof is circumstantial," she said simply. "I can see how they'd benefit from it, sure. Kill off every non-human on Omega and it becomes that much easier to round up everyone left behind. Humans are a minority here, but it's still a good size population sitting right outside the Collector's home relay."

She continued, "If it is them, this could be their testing a plan of attack for larger colonies. Unleash a bio-weapon like this to a racially diverse planet and you can wipe out most of the local resistance without harming your target group. Least amount of risk, highest reward. Can you imagine what would happen if this plague was introduced on the Citadel?"

The snarling face of Jath'Amon appeared in the forefront of Jacob's mind. "I have a better grasp of it than I'd like to."

Shepard looked at him over her shoulder. "That's mysterious."

"Nowhere near as exciting as killing a Reaper, but get us out of here alive and I'll tell you all about it."

"Just a few more pins," she assured with a worn-out sigh. A few hours' bunk time between saving Archangel and setting out for Dr. Solus hadn't been very refreshing, but upon learning that Mordin was a salarian in the middle of a ward of dying aliens, the ground team knew they had to move quickly.

EDI piped up, and Jacob was relieved the artificial intelligence was still talking to them. The commander hadn't warmed much to EDI's presence, despite her help. _"Shepard, I am detecting an abnormal energy signature inside the room. It isn't control system, but it activated when you powered it on. I have run scans, and all I can confirm for certain is that the marker is not a part of your suit output, and it is growing in strength. I thought you should be made aware."_

"Noted."

Jacob raised an eyebrow at the back of the commander's head. She was too busy with the door to be concerned, but he figured there had to be a reason for EDI to point it out. "Any idea what it could be?"

_"It's too anomalous to say, but the Cerberus network has data on similar energy behaviors in some short-range remote detonators. As the virtual intelligence in Shepard's armor has identified numerous compressed gas tanks in your immediate vicinity, I suggest proceeding with caution."_

That got Shepard's attention.

"Damn it! That's why the trashed the console! They were hiding it!" She clipped Jacob's shoulder in her bolt for the computer, and he stumbled forward. She didn't notice.

_"Should I inform Operative Lawson?" _EDI asked, but got no answer. Jacob balanced atop the heaps of garbage towards the gas canisters, squinting at them in the dark. They were marked with a number of worn labels, the largest of which was bold white lettering on a blue background. Under years' accumulation of scrapes and grime, Jacob picked through the various alien scripts until he found something recognizable.

"What's 'HCL'?" he asked.

_"Hydrogen chloride, a gas that converts into hydrochloric acid upon contact with moisture,"_ EDI mentioned conversationally. _"Given the high humidity of your environment-"_

"Time to go, Commander." Jacob took Shepard by the arm and tried to steer her back to the door, but she pulled free.

"There's - what? - twenty tanks sitting here?" she waved at the stack, "The blast is going to be huge. Even if we do get out of range, the acid plume is going to melt down that ancient console like butter. If we lose either of these fans, we all suffocate or die of the plague anyway."

Jacob frowned. "You think you can stop it? Have you ever had bomb disposal training?"

"The vorcha built it. How complex could this thing possibly be?" Shepard reached into a spare ammo pack on her thigh and shoved the reward of her efforts, a live grenade, into Jacob's hands. "Listen. It'll take too long weed out the detonator in that mess. I need you to open this up so I can rig a charge to it."

At first Taylor was jarred by the absurdity of the request. The soldier knew without the launcher's VI to initiate the timer sequence, the weapon wouldn't detonate. Grenades were designed to be hauled around by ground troops, built to withstand being bumped around and jolted. He also knew that opening the protective case broke several safety mechanisms and made a premature explosion a thousand times more likely. Jacob wasn't comfortable being the one holding it should that come to pass.

"These aren't like the concussion grenades you used in the Alliance. They're not meant to be modded." No doubt Shepard already knew that, but he felt the need to clarify just in case. "Why do we even need this?"

"I have a trick. It's not the first time something like this has happened to me, and last time it was a nuclear warhead," she commented, pulling a machine pistol from its holster. With her omni-tool she began breaking it down, pulling the gun apart.

"There's a trick for dismantling nukes that involves small explosives?"

The commander's glare was sharp. "You going to help me here, or do I have to figure out how to spawn six more hands in the next fifteen seconds?"

"What do you need me to do?" he growled, shrugging off his reservations while twisting the saucer's top from the bottom. It clicked apart with some effort as seals gave way, and Jacob swallowed hard. It took some work to unhook components that had become tangled, but eventually all that separated the two halves were a few thin wires.

"I have an ammo mod for disrupting electronics. We're going to convert it to fit the grenade's VI. In theory, we'll get a scramming blast that will short out anything not strong enough to resist the EMP."

"So it'll shut down the detonator, but should leave the fan control undamaged. Supposing that it works the way we want it to."

Shepard smirked darkly at Jacob. "If not, you'll really be wishing for a suit of heavy armor in a few minutes here."

He was about to point out that at this proximity Shepard wouldn't survive Jacob very long with or without armor, but there was the telltale hum of his comm unit activating on the group channel. Miranda sounded angry - and muffled. Her breathing mask was interfering with the clarity. _"Commander, there's a problem with the second fan."_

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Of course there is. You talk to her: I can't drop what I'm doing here."

"Go ahead, Miranda," Jacob prompted, bringing his hand to his ear.

_"The vorcha have holed themselves up in the other generator room. They have a human hostage, and they say if we get any closer, they'll kill him. I think the man may be the assistant Mordin asked us to look for."_

"What's your status?" Taylor asked, ignoring the commander's aggravated shout. It was Massani who answered, much to his disdain.

_"There's only a few of them. I can snipe the little bastards easy from here, but no way I can bury 'em all before they kill the lab coat. We wait too long and they'll break the generator, but it's the boss' call."_

Something about the way the mercenary tacked on that last part cause a flare of anger within Jacob. As if the decision wasn't hard enough to make, the flippant disregard of the aging gunman seemed to be making light of the matter. It infuriated the lieutenant, who understood that they hadn't asked Shepard because they didn't know what to do. Everyone what the commander would have to say, regardless of how much she may want to save the hostage. They just had to go to her for confirmation so they could say they were just following orders.

So they could say they weren't the person to approve sacrificing one for the many. So they wouldn't have it on their consciences.

Jacob looked at Shepard's scurrying hands. He didn't know what to tell her that could make things any less difficult, and instead settled for watching her in sympathetic silence. Her eyes were flashing with thought, lower lip victim to nervous biting. He toyed with the idea of handing down the order himself, but Shepard beat him to it.

"Tell them to just get it done." The commander's voice was stony. Emotionless. Befitting of an order that would cost the life of an innocent man who'd done nothing but try to help. She resumed her work with the pistol's inner computer, leaving Jacob to tap his comm.

"Miranda. Do what you have to. Without both fans, it's all been for nothing."

_"We're on it."_ With that, the cell leader clicked off the channel.

"Not the best way to get into Mordin's good graces," Shepard mumbled. "Hurry up and pull the blast components out of the grenade. Make sure to clip the trigger wire first if you want to keep your hand."

He asked her to be a little more specific than that, and the commander ended up verbally walking Jacob through the dismantling process step by step. Some parts he was familiar with, but once they got down to taking protocol chips from her SMG's onboard computer and using them to replace those of the grenade, Jacob was lost in the tech jargon. Shepard sounded completely drained despite the hurried pace of their work, but Jacob said nothing about it.

"Good. Now put that sucker back together, set it up, and we're done." Shepard pulled her helmet off her back and started to connect the lines to her life support. "And just so you can't say I preach false hope, I warn you now that this does have the potential to go very wrong."

Jacob grimaced as he pieced the grenade back together. "So I guess if I was ever interested in finding God..."

"Maybe God had better things to do than visit me while I was dead, but I think you'd just be wasting your time." Shepard waited for him to set the butchered device down on the console before they headed towards the farthest corner of the room. The intent was to put any kind of distance between themselves and the blast they could, but if the repurposed grenade didn't behave as expected, it wouldn't make a difference.

"Right," Jacob drawled. "Because using the last moments of my life to revisit my 'five asari in a hot tub' dream would be _so_ much more productive right now."


End file.
